


Voq in the Mirror

by Halfblood_Fiend



Series: Star Trek 2020 Filled Bingos [4]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Angst, Confusion, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:02:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26229130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halfblood_Fiend/pseuds/Halfblood_Fiend
Summary: Ash Tyler struggles to come to terms with his own identity while he is supposed to be undercover in the Mirror-verse. His mysterious stalker complicates everything he's fought for.
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Ash Tyler | Voq
Series: Star Trek 2020 Filled Bingos [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904971
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: Star Trek Bingo Summer 2020





	Voq in the Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> For the Star Trek Bingo 2020:  
> Vertical Prompt 4
> 
> Sleeper Agents
> 
> Note: I really wanted to explore how Ash and Voq struggled to coexist before Voq was severed, without boiling it down to some weird split personality disorder sort of deal. I hope y'all enjoy (and that it makes sense lol).

From the moment he had left Michael’s Captain’s Quarters aboard the _I.S.S Shenzhou_ that morning, Ash Tyler had felt the eyes of every crewmember on his back.

Crosshairs followed him throughout his morning shift of guard duty (the debatably pointless use of Security Officers in this universe), from where, he couldn’t quite tell. It kept Ash’s teeth on edge and raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He looked over his shoulder. He waited for an attack. He felt it in his gut. But it was a quiet shift—occupants of the Agonizers aside—and he made it to the Mess for a lunch break without incident.

Ash chanced a furtive glance around the nearly-empty mess hall over a metal tray of tasteless replicated food. He picked an out-of-the-way table, far from anyone else in the room.

There was something to be said about the distraction of feeling like he was being watched all day. At least it had kept his mind on something other than—

_Other than…_

Shaking his head, he tried to clear the unwanted memories. When that didn’t work, he reached up to press the heels of his palms into his eyes so hard he saw stars. He controlled his breathing, willed his heart to be slow.

God, he hoped… he hoped Hugh was—

Ash dropped his hands to the table with a heavy thud, focusing instead on the dull ache of the impact. His stomach churned and heaved.

Certain he wouldn’t be eating anything today either, he abandoned the table, dropped his untouched meal into the recycling receptacle, and left the Mess.

Ash didn’t know where he would go yet—this ship was alien and uncomfortable for him—but he walked anyway. It was a stupid attempt to place distance between himself and his memories, he knew, but what else could he do? The only person who had any hope of understanding him was Michael, but _only_ when they were in private. He would have to wait until the late evening to see her.

The crew he passed in the corridors leered at him from scarred not-quite-right faces. They were disconcerting and backwards. They were the last people he wanted to be around when his head was spinning, but they were his only company for now.

And then a thought occurred to him.

He couldn’t speak to Michael, but maybe he could visit Captain Lorca? Maybe he could comm the _Discovery?_ Or both? Ash felt all he needed was a touch of sanity about now, a lifeline to the world that he knew to be his.

God, he hoped, with everything that he had in him, that he and Michael would still belong to that world when this was all over.

Making up his mind, Ash walked with more purpose. So it was somewhere around the Medbay when he became aware of his tail.

This person was sloppy. The tail hadn’t expected Ash to stop so suddenly. But when a passing nurse dropped his medkit, the contents rolling across the corridor, Ash bent to help without thinking.

As Ash reached behind him for a scattered hypospray, he caught the unmistakable tells of a pursuer out of the corner of his eye: their stunted halt, their quick about face, and then they disappeared around the nearest corner.

The nurse, flustered that someone would help him recover his tools, didn’t notice how Ash kept his eyes trained down the hall. His unblinking stare was rewarded with the tail’s head poking back around the corner, and, seeing their target was still crouched, they withdrew again. Didn’t even notice Ash was _watching_ them.

They were a sloppy stalker for a world that was so paranoid, that was for sure.

Ash muttered a “you’re welcome” to the nurse without thinking as they both rose from the floor. He didn’t believe the other man had thanked him in the first place; forgot that manners were few and far between. Maybe for the best. Maybe he just looked like a sarcastic asshole now.

If that was the worst he would become here, then he would be grateful.

As he continued on his way towards the emptier lower decks of the ship, Ash heard his tail resume as well. He strained his ears and made mental notes.

Heavy footfalls made them male in sex and very likely of sturdy build. They maintained a five-meter distance but had quick steps—short in height; not necessarily an advantage. _Probably new at this too_ , Ash thought grimly. If it were him, he would have erred on the side of caution and abandoned the chase for today. He would have _assumed_ he’d been caught and fallen back to recuperate the apparent loss.

This person was, apparently, not so smart.

As he got on the turbolift at the end of the corridor, Ash weighed his options. To lose them? Or to confront them?

Losing them was attractive, but he was willing to bet it wouldn’t be easy for him in this unfamiliar terrain. He only had two allies on board, and Captain Lorca would be useless if they all wanted to maintain cover. Ash couldn’t even be assured of his safety in a crowd here. He could easily imagine these people letting two crewmates kill each other in front of them. It might not even ever occur to them to stop the fight.

Yet confronting his pursuer would be a sure altercation, and maybe even a sure death. Better to assume that everyone here thirsted for blood and couldn’t simply be spooked away by an act of force. Assassination seemed to be the most common way to climb the ladder in this awful place, and Ash was a very high rung. He had placed the target on his back himself, he realized, by putting himself so close to Michael. Should have thought of that. But it was too late now to regret that he didn’t.

For all his assumptions, however, Ash really wanted to know _exactly why_ he was being followed, and—maybe worse—he wanted to ensure it _wouldn’t happen again._

By the time his turbolift had opened onto the lowest deck, Ash had a plan.

His stalker could follow with the last turbolift log, and while he briefly considered scrambling the data, Ash decided it was more important to him to find out _who_ it was that thought he was so important…

If someone thought _he_ was important, then that meant they were trying to get to Michael, and _that_ was unacceptable.

Ash jogged towards the laundry room and used his communicator to make a signal with no heading. He only hoped _Discovery_ wouldn’t catch it and link up with him. What he didn’t need was for more questions to be asked, instead, he just wanted his tail to take the bait.

Several long minutes later, with his heart pounding in his throat, Ash watched as the turbolift doors opened.

His pursuer stepped out into the half-lit corridor holding up a tricorder, no doubt tracking Ash’s dummy signal. They indeed looked slight, but sturdy. Male, probably. Human, obviously. Their eyes were glued to their tricorder and now they took soft, cautious steps, with no idea that their prey had turned the tables on them. They hadn’t even bothered to check the corridor before stepping out. Amateur really. Ash had half a mind to be offended.

An easy target, to be sure.

He held his breath and waited for his pursuer to draw closer. Five meters. Two. One.

They took another cautious step and swiveled in Ash’s direction.

They glanced up from the tricorder screen. Ash launched himself forward.

With their hands full, Ash was able to get his full weight thrown into them. His momentum sent them careening backwards and with a jolting— _THUD—_ his pursuer crashed into the wall across the way, their head smacking hard.

Blood red obscured Ash’s vison. An intense _rage_ flooded his mind. It went beyond just him and his survival on a covert mission. It went beyond even Michael. He was filled with an intense _disgust_ that seemed to be a part within him, but also without.

With a guttural shout, Ash’s hand curled in the Terran uniform and he slammed the stalker back into the bulkhead, their green eyes going wide for a moment. Their hands scrabbled for purchase against his chest, the tricorder falling forgotten, but Ash’s teeth gnashed hard and he ripped their hands from his own uniform with a power that was not his own.

_Disgusting human! Daring to touch me! Daring to fight me! Feeble creature to hide in the shadows instead of besting me in outright battle!_

Voq hissed at the Human man and slammed him back into the bulkhead. He grinned when the human’s head smacked against the metal once more and left a dent and a streak of crimson.

_I will drink your blood and wring the life from you with your entrails!_

The human shook his head, eyes dazed, but managed to pull his arm back and caught Voq with the heel of his palm. The blow knocked his head back and Voq cursed his frail human shell. But he barely let it stop him as he threw the man to the side and leapt upon his supine form.

_FILTHY HUMAN!_

The human scrabbled for purchase but Voq already had his conveniently long fingers around his throat. The man’s eyes bugged. Voq’s lips stretched into a cruel smile. He squeezed.

Then he grew tired of the waiting.

Yanking the man up by his throat, Voq slammed his skull into the ground. Once. _Twice._ Crimson splashed the floor when he yanked the man’s head up again. It lolled aside. Voq placed one hand on the man’s pale face, the fingernails of the other digging into soft flesh, and pushed with all his weight back into the ground with a wet and satisfying _Crack!_

He sat back on his haunches, threw his head back and roared in triumph.

Bathed in it. Less than honorable though it may have begun.

_His second kill…_

His heart raced in his chest.

He blinked.

Ash blinked again. He looked down and unwrapped his hands from his stalker’s throat. They came away bloody.

_What?_

He straddled the person on the floor, red blood pooling beneath their head, coagulating in their straw-colored hair. Cold dread crept into Ash’s limbs. He was heavy and shaking and couldn’t look away from glassy green eyes.

_It had happened **again**._

Clenching his teeth, barely strangling a cry, Ash gripped his hair hard. A moment too late he remembered that there was still blood on his hands. The thought of it in his hair made him sick. He yelped and leapt off the body, revulsion hitting him hard in the chest and making him heave. Dry and painful.

_He did it again. He did it again._

His face crumpled. A sob choked in his throat.

_How does this keep happening?_

As before, flashes of memory. Of blood and screaming and… _her._ The unthinkable one. The Klingon in the brig. He had never wanted to see her again and then there she was. She spoke words to him. Words that he didn’t understand but _felt_ in his bones.

_She_ did this. L’Rell.

_But how?_

Ash shook his head and the dry sob that had caught came out in a strangled mess. It was a pitiful sound, and he was glad there was no one down here to catch him like this. So broken. Confused.

He shook his head again and examined his hands. Another wave of nausea hit him, but he tamped it down.

Ash didn’t have _time_ to be pitiful, and more importantly, _Michael_ couldn’t afford for him to lose focus.

Wiping his hands on his pants, he struggled to control his breathing; _wanted_ to control his heart and the swimming unease in his stomach but he knew that those were lost causes. Instead he settled for closing his eyes and trying to think.

He breathed.

_In._

_And out._

_In._

_Out._

_In…_

A strange calm settled over him. Cold. Almost cruel. But Ash…welcomed it. He _needed_ it. He let it wash over him—swallow him whole. It seemed to cradle him, promising to make all this easier.

Simple.

Like sleeping.

Ash’s limbs grew heavy as the calm reached across his body. His thoughts didn’t feel like his own anymore. They became harsh, calculating—what Michael needed him to be.

He had won the fight against his stalker, _as he should have_. _He_ was stronger than all of them, he knew. If that was the best his enemies would send after him, then this “Empire” was a laughable sham of one. _Nothing compared to the Klingon Empire united behind Kahless and T’Kuvma._

But he had to make sure that nothing like this would happen again. Someone sought to attack him—to kill him—and an attempt on his life would clear the way to an attempt on Michael’s.

Ash felt his fingers twitch.

While it was regrettable to have lost the chance to get information out of his would-be attacker, making an example out of him would have to be good enough.

He knew what he had to do now.

The calm had helped.

* * *

The body wasn’t so hard to drag.

Ash ignored the silent stares. He hated the nods of approval. They churned a sickness in his stomach. He refused to look back at the long streak of blood.

It was a long march to the Mess Hall, but he tightened his grip on the corpse’s ankle and steeled himself with every step, drawing from that welcome calm conviction that had washed over him.

When he arrived, a hush fell over the half-filled room.

Ash raised his eyes to the people sitting at tables. The barbarians that lived in this universe watched him with barely masked trepidation.

_Barely masked weakness._

He made slow eye contact with each one, wondering if the one responsible was here in this very room. He challenged every one with his burning gaze, almost hoping that _someone_ would rise and fight. Maybe his true enemy wasn’t here, but he knew it wasn’t a big ship; Ash would find him soon enough.

With something of a snort, Ash bared his teeth. He summoned that strange superhuman strength from within him and heaved the filthy, mangled body of his attacker in front of him—in front of everyone—and left.

_Yes, he’d find the culprit soon._

_Then they would be sorry they had ever picked a fight with T’Kuvma’s own chosen Torchbearer._

Calm resolve washed over his body.


End file.
